


Stand Amid the Roar

by thatviciousvixen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Kinda sorta hurt/comfort, M/M, and this ends pretty fluffy, dream fic, mild violence, this is the closest I can get to writing dark fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/pseuds/thatviciousvixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you know, Dr. Chilton, that ravens often form close friendships with wolves? They work together in the wild.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand Amid the Roar

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Poe's "A Dream Within a Dream," because honestly I'm AWFUL at titles. As usual, come hang with me on tumblr at that-vicious-vixen!

He is bleeding.

There is pain, he is bound, and he is bleeding. Just like he bled before.

Chilton knows very little of what is going on, but he knows this: there is no use in struggling to free himself. The bindings holding his wrists to the arms of the chair he is sitting in feel suspiciously like duct tape, and physically he is not the strongest of men. His legs are bound together with no real finesse-whoever has him here knows there is no point in tying them too tightly. He knows this is meant as an insult, his legs are useless to him as long as he is without his cane. For some reason his shirt is unbuttoned, hanging open to display the sharp scar that splits his stomach. 

He is vulnerable.

He also knows that he is wounded. His face stings; a long, searing burn reaches across his cheek bone to just under his eye. His mouth is thick with the coppery taste of blood where it drips past his lips. With a whimper he tries to turn his head enough to wipe the blood away on his shoulder, but the movement causes an agonizing pain that spreads from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. He aches. He aches, and he stings, and he can practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

He knows that he is probably going to die here, wherever here may be. Lightning may strike twice, but a third time? His luck is not that good. He has made it out of two near-death experiences, now with his third he is convinced that some force of nature seems to be very dedicated to taking him off the board.

What he does not know is why he is here. He doesn't understand what he's done, or who has put him in this position. With a groan he peers into the darkness, trying to make out any shapes that may tell him where he is. How he might escape this. There is nothing. Only silence, the still emptiness of the unknown.

“Ah, Dr. Chilton. I see you are awake.”

A blinding flash goes off, filling the room with light. Chilton has to close his eyes, turning his head away to protect himself from the intensity of it.

“I am very sorry, Dr. Chilton. I forgot that you have been sitting here in the dark for quite some time.”

Letting out another soft groan, Chilton opens his eyes. It is with a sharp pang of dread that he realizes he knows his surroundings. He's eaten here numerous times. Before him Hannibal Lecter's table is decorated with its usual care and attention to detail, with plates set for each chair, wine glasses sparkling, and silverware polished. The centerpiece is a grand affair as usual. Shards of broken glass are placed carefully in the middle of the table, topped with crystal vases full of delicate purple flowers. At the top of each plate, a name tag tucked in its beak, is the skull of some sort of bird.

“A raven, of course,” Hannibal explains, noting the way Chilton examines the place settings. “Many cultures view them as harbingers of death.”

Chilton manages to snort, glaring up at his captor. “A bit heavy handed, Dr. Lecter. Even for you.”

Hannibal smiles, walking around the table to sit opposite Chilton. “Did you know, Dr. Chilton, that ravens often form close friendships with wolves? They work together in the wild.” He picks up his wine glass, giving it a swirl before taking a small sip. A look of bliss passes over his features as he savors the taste, swallowing so he can continue on. “Wolves, of course, are the muscle. They hunt and kill prey with a striking sort of accuracy. Ravens can be quite helpful though. They seek the prey out. Lead their wolf to its next victim. And once the wolf has eaten his fill, the raven picks through the leftovers to sustain himself. In return for his scouting he earns a full belly and the protection of the wolf.”

“Thank you for the lesson in zoology,' Chilton rasps. “I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what this has to do with me.”

Hannibal smiles warmly. “I've been keeping an eye on you, Frederick. I have a raven of my own.”

Chilton swallows hard, picking up the tap...tap...tap...of footsteps approaching the room. His mind supplies a number of scenarios that he knows can't be true. He is fully aware that Abel Gideon is not approaching, here to finish the job he started. Abel Gideon is dead, carved into pieces in a guest room in his own home. Likewise, he knows that it couldn't be Alana Bloom. As much as he dislikes her, he truly believes she has no idea what her lover has been up to. Anyway, it's not like Dr. Bloom has been paying particularly close attention to Chilton since he was shot.

“Who is it, Miriam Lass?” he asks, swallowing hard. He has begrudgingly accepted that Lass was not acting of her own influence when she shot him, but how far does that lack of will go? Has she been acting as Hannibal's pawn, all the while playing the stoic victim to Jack Crawford?

“Not quite.” The voice behind him is like ice down his back. He knows that voice well. 

“Will,” he whispers. A thousand emotions course through his veins. For the first time in his life he wants to cry, weep like a child who's skinned his knee. Beg for comfort and reassurance, for this all to be some horrible game. Instead he sets his jaw, straightening in the chair he's tied to.

Will Graham steps into his line of sight, a dark smile twisting his usually lovely face. “Hello, Frederick. Nice of you to join us for dinner.” He doesn't look like himself, Hannibal has clearly had a hand in dressing him. Will's flannels and ratty jeans are replaced by a fine suit, well tailored to fit his lean body. His hair is trimmed and brushed off of his face, glasses for once sitting properly on the bridge of his nose. He is clean shaven, sharp, and not at all himself.

“Will, this isn't...how?” Chilton manages to choke, his voice betraying his emotion. This is the man he has trusted, when all others turned their backs on him. The man who knelt before him and swore to exonerate him, who gave him a comfortable place to hide where he wouldn't be alone. After weeks of dancing around each other, this man came to share his bed one night and never left. 

It figures, he should have known better than to believe in the healing power of love. He's far too smart for such childish nonsense.

“How what?” Will croons, yanking him from his thoughts. “How did I plan this all without you knowing? How did I convince you that I was someone you could put your complete faith in?”

Chilton feels sick, bile roiling in the pit of his stomach. He wants to cover his ears, but his hands are bound tight. Instead he closes his eyes, at the very least able to protect himself from the sneer on Will's face. “I thought that you-that we...were something.”

“How could we be something when you are nothing?” Will laughs. He kneels next to Chilton, forcing his chin over until he has no choice but to look. “You're pathetic. Which, I suppose, is why it was so easy to convince you otherwise. You were so desperate for a friend, for someone to be your champion.” Will laughs, shaking his head. With a sick smile on his face he leans in, lips brushing Chilton's ear as he speaks. “Who could love you? You have no spine. You have no guts. You're nothing, a fearful little worm who hides behind people braver and stronger than you.”

Chilton jerks his head away, eyes cast down. He doesn't need this from Will, he knows well enough the truth behind it. “You told me that you-”

“-loved you? Not for a second,” Will says with a sneer. He stands, striding gracefully to stand behind Lecter. The psychiatrist wears a look of amusement, eating every word Will spits with elan. “How could anyone love you? You stand in the shadows of men far greater than you'll ever be.” Will's hand rests on Lecter's shoulder, and it makes his stomach surge. He can taste the acid on the back of his tongue, he's fairly sure he's going to vomit. “But now you'll learn, Frederick. Your place. To never trust broken men with pretty words. We have so many lessons to teach you.”

Chilton whimpers, eyes widening. The fear he can deal with. Indignity is nothing. But he trusted. For once he trusted, and for once he felt, and it's that stupid mistake that will be his undoing.

Will is once again at his side, moving to straddle his lap. They've been in this position before, but never like this. This is a sick desecration of something that used to be so beautiful to him, so pure.

“Any last words, Frederick?”

Chilton looks up, hoping his eyes are void of emotion. There is no use pleading with Will, and he certainly doesn't want to show his fear. He wants to show nothing. To give no satisfaction.

“Frederick?”

The knife presses to the hollow of his throat, pressing in just enough to draw blood. He shows nothing.

“Frederick.”

With a neat flick Will slices through his chest, cutting right down to his sternum. He feels nothing.

“Frederick!”

Laughing gleefully, Will plunges a hand into his chest. He wraps expert fingers around Chilton's heart, squeezing. He is nothing.

“Frederick God damnit, wake up!”

With a shout Frederick sits up, panting and tangled in the sheets. He looks down and slides a hand along his skin. It is as it always was, slightly scarred but mostly intact. Next to him Will looks worried, eyes wide behind crooked glasses. He must have just thrown them on.

“That must have been some dream,” Will says lightly, trying to keep his tone calm and soothing. His hand is on Fredrick's shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You were screaming loud enough that the dogs came up to investigate.”

Sure enough Winston and Lola are sitting at the foot of the bed, whining and pawing at the sheets. “I had...fuck,” Frederick swears, running a hand through his hair. It's no surprise that he's drenched in sweat, trembling all over. He flops back onto his pillow, trying to catch his breath. “That was insane.”

“Sounds it,” Will says gingerly. He stretches on his side next to Frederick, running a comforting hand over his belly. His thumb dips into the scar there, swiping along the marred flesh. “Remember any of it?”

“Yes,” Frederick says carefully, debating leaving it at that. He heaves a sigh, turning into his own side to face Will. “Your job is getting to both of us, I suppose. You had me trussed up to a chair in Hannibal Lecter's dining room, the two of you were planning to finish what Gideon started.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Just...it played on all of the tried and true insecurities I usually dream about.”

Will's face is impassive, and for a moment Frederick thinks he should have kept his mouth shut. But after a moment Will shakes his head, leaning in to lightly brush their lips together. “Just another reason to despise Lecter, I suppose. He really can get to you anywhere, even in your dreams.”

“I suppose.” Frederick shrugs, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Let's not bring him to bed. Not willingly at least.”

Will moves closer, resting his head on Frederick's pillow and draping an arm over his hips. “Listen, I know we're not really great about discussing our feelings, either of us.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Frederick says loftily, waving a hand in the air.

Will huffs a soft laugh, his breath ghosting over Frederick's shoulder. “Just bear with me. Just for a moment.” He taps Frederick's shoulder, smiling brightly in the dim room when he finally looks over. “I really...enjoy having you here. Immensely. As in, if you were to go I'd be tremendously disappointed. I look forward to coming home to you every night, and to spending my time off with you.”

Frederick has never been great at dealing with such sincere emotions. “I do enjoy our little excursions...even if most of the time you try to take me fishing to see if you can convince me to enjoy it.”

Will laughs, fingers tracing patterns over Frederick's hip. “Some day. Anyway, I just really want you to know that I admire you. I've had so many people trying to exert control over me in one way or another-”

“-me being one of them-”

“-but things are different now,” Will continues, voice firm. “You've said your apologies, and I've accepted them. We're different people now.”

“Mutual growth through manipulation,” Frederick hums, quirking an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” Will agrees. He moves closer and suddenly a pair of warm lips are exploring Frederick's neck. “More importantly, I respect you. And I'm rather fond of you.”

Frederick shivers, tilting his head to the side so Will can kiss a line along his throat. “I'm rather fond of you as well. It's why I tolerate your dogs.” He smiles as Will laughs, the sound helping him relax. All thoughts of nightmares, especially ones named Hannibal Lecter, are gone for the moment. 

“We should go on vacation together,” Will says, suckling at Frederick's collarbone. “Somewhere far. And quiet. Where we don't know anyone's names, or any of the known serial killers in the area.”

After that there is no breath for planning, no words other than curses and breathless pleading for more, oh god yes, si mi corazon, dios. They make love spooned together, which is terrible for any sort of deep stimulation but amazing when you've been starved for affection for too long. Will presses close to Frederick, giving lazy, shallow thrusts that perfectly fit the early hour and the hazy darkness surrounding the room. His arm is wrapped tight around Frederick's chest, cradling him close, making him feel more loved and wanted then he ever has before.

Will's breath is soft in his ear, low and gravelly as he whispers, “You are perfect. You're sexy. You're everything I never knew I needed, God you're so amazing...” Every word past his lips is some sort of praise, and it's making Frederick feel vulnerable and intensely desired. Will slides a hand down his thigh, guiding him until his leg is bent, giving Will a better angle to thrust in. “You feel so good,” he moans, biting the back of Frederick's neck. “I could lie like this forever with you...”

It takes a while for either to get off, there's no rush and they're both enjoying this new level of intimacy. Finally Will wraps a hand around Frederick's length, teasing the head until he shouts in Spanish and spills into his hand. Will is still moaning praises as he comes, gasping and pressing his lips to Frederick's shoulder. 

Once both men have cleaned up and returned to bed they tangle together, laying in comfortable silence as they wait for sleep to return. Will is the first to drift off. Sex makes him sleepy when it's not three in the morning, so he really stands no chance. 

As he watches his lover sleep Frederick ponders the dream, but it has no bite now. He drifts off slowly, thinking of ravens, and wolves, and just how glad he is that Will Graham is neither.


End file.
